Non indeed. Because between you and that shiny qualification, there is the prospect of a long, arduous trek across some unknown wasteland where you are more than likely to be attacked by wildlife, plantlife and locals with pitchforks.
And guess what. I've survived to Gold level. Which means I get to go to Dartmoor. For four days.
Midsummer storms, bogs so big they'll eat you whole, tors that bury themselves in the cloud layer, wind so strong it blows you flat on your face ... and that's in summer.
I'm going to have fun.
But, as some famous personage said, a picture is worth a thousand words. So, in light of that, here's some pictures from last year's Silver expedition (on Exmoor, Dartmoor's littler and much less hormonal brother).
This ought to show you exactly what sort of fun we have....
In case you hadn't guessed, I'm the nutcase on the far right. This was before chronic exhaustion set in.
The mascot and I didn't get along.
FLEE! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!
No, this is not the Amazon rainforest - it's just an "alternative" route up a hill.
This is why you never leave me in charge of navigation.
"You mean ... we have to walk all the way down there!?"
"Shh! I'm being poetic!"
"For I do like to be beside the seaside ... zzzzzzz."
Yeah, this was near the end of Day Two. At around four in the afternoon. We still had another hour to go.
Now, who wants to place bets on how long it will be before I die a most painful and excruciating death on the misty moorland this summer? Will I even survive the practice walks leading up to this summer? Will the Hound of the Baskervilles get me, or will it be death by kelpie in the bogs?
Bring it on.